


Callahan's Law

by amy1om



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Corporal Punishment, Drama, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-22
Updated: 2014-01-11
Packaged: 2017-11-12 15:45:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/492915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amy1om/pseuds/amy1om
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sherlock and John take a case aboard, things quickly go wrong and both of them will return home with more scars than what they left with. Written for Round 3 of the hurt_comfort bingo community using the corporal punishment for the wild card slot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rock and a Hard Place

**Author's Note:**

> Shared pain is lessened; shared joy, increased—thus do we refute entropy.  
> – Callahan's Law or the Law of Conservation of Pain and Joy –

The lawyer looked apologetic as he said, “Normally you would be facing several years in prison in addition to being caned for the drugs found on your person.”

“And I keep telling you people that the drugs are not his!” John growled

“Just so, Dr Watson, but our courts found Mr Holmes guilty of possession. As I said normally both punishments would be imposed but the other Mr Holmes being who he is... well you are very fortunate your brother was able to negotiate the punishment down to just one of the two I've listed.”

“Oh yes, that's very fortunate indeed – to be given a choice between losing years from his life or being beaten on the backside with a cane! Good going there, Mycroft! Well done!”

“John!” Sherlock shot him a look that said the dramatics was not helping the situation any. After his friend fell silent the detective looked back to the lawyer. “If I chose to take the cane as punishment, how many strokes would be administered?”

The lawyer looked grim indeed. “You would receive the maximum allowed under Singapore's law, which is twenty-four.”

“How many years if I chose prison instead?”

“Two years at the minimum, Mr Holmes, if you are fortunate. I believe it is likely you would be facing closer to 5 years.”

John swore at this, especially when he saw that Sherlock had already made up his mind. “You can't seriously be considering the cane!”

“If I do not wish to spend the next five in prison, tell me what other choice do I have, John?” Sherlock replied. “You may tell the authorities I will take the cane.”

The lawyer nodded. “All right, Mr Holmes, I'll tell them of your choice then. You'll likely be caned within the next 24 or 48 hours after the prison's doctor has had the chance to examine you to make sure you can withstand it.” He waited a moment, staring at Sherlock as if willing him to change his mind, then knocked twice in the door to be released from the cell.

“I want to be there when they do it,” John said.

“No, John!”

John ignored Sherlock's protest, and looked at the lawyer. “Doctors are usually present during a caning, aren't they?”

The lawyer nodded, “Yes, they are to ensure the prisoner is able to receive each stroke without endangering their lives but it's usually only the prison's doctor who is allowed to be present during a caning.”

“I am a doctor, and I am his friend. I want to be there during it.”


	2. He Had No Choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's punishment is administered and John is left with a choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to include this in the last chapter but forgot... special thanks to my friend aricadavidson for the initial feedback/comments/title suggestion. I also like to thank herkatris for being a beta and further comments for this story.

It was early in the morning when John arrived at the prison and was escorted into the room where Sherlock's punishment would be given. Before John left, Warden Hou personally escorted him from the prison, telling him he needed to be back thirty minutes before the caning. The next morning, after they were satisfied he had no weapons of any sort he was taken to meet with the warden was waiting to speak with just outside the room where the caning would take place.

The man was shorter than John but had a look on his face that said he was someone you did not want to mess with. “Ah, Dr Watson, I wanted you to know that allowing your presence while your friend is receiving his punishment goes against our standard procedure. I am only allowing this because I was given an order to do so.”

“I understand.”

“You should also know, Dr Watson, that during the caning you are not allowed to interfere in any way. If it is determined your friend is in need of a doctor, then it will our own doctor who will see to him. Is that understood?” Hou asked.

“Yes,” John nodded. “I understand.”

“Good because if at any time you try to interfere you will be removed from the room immediately and the caning will continue without you.”

“I understand. I won't try to interfere.”

“Good.” With that, they went inside inside the room. 

John was told to stand on the other side of the room from the wooden A frame he knew Sherlock would be bound to during the punishment. The prison's doctor and two guards joined him as two more guards entered the room with Sherlock between them, his eyes briefly meeting John's before they led over him to the trestle. Sherlock was given the order to take off all of his clothes, and at the moment he was naked, the guards began tying his wrists and ankles to the frame. They finished by securing padding on Sherlock's lower back to protect his spine and kidneys from the injury of wayward blows landing there.

As he watched while Sherlock was being stripped for the caning, John had to wonder if chasing Candace Lin all the way from London to Singapore had been worth it. Because if he were really honest with himself, he could only conclude that she wasn't, she wasn't worth anything, anything at all.

The moment they had finished securing Sherlock, one of the biggest brutes of a man John had ever seen entered with the cane in his hand and it took every ounce of his will not to say anything right then and there. The brute took his place near the exposed backside, and after a nod from the warden he laid the first stroke across Sherlock's buttocks.

John cringed in horror the mark the first stroke made, and he knew there would be scars to remind the detective of this painful experience long after the fact. But the most surprising part about it was Sherlock made no more than groaning sound with the first 4 strokes, and John did not understand he wasn't screaming his head off each time the cane landed. It was nearly halfway into the punishment that he realized Sherlock did not want to give them the satisfaction of hearing how much this really was hurting him.

He had once again groaned in pain when John had had enough and yelled, “Who cares what these prats think? Bloody scream your head off if it helps, Sherlock!” Warden Hou gave John a look but did not order the guards to remove him, and looking back as another blow landed John realized why Sherlock was still holding his cries in. “Don't you dare hold them in on my account either, Sherlock Holmes!Scream if you need to! I won't think any less of you!”

A bloodcurdling scream accompanied each new stroke after that, and John found himself blinking away tears as a result of listening to his friend's agonized screams. With each new sound of agony from Sherlock, John felt his anger at the Singaporean authorities grow so much that soon the only thing that was holding him back was his military training. John forced himself to focus on the concept that this would end along with the fact that Sherlock would need him to be focused and ready to help him when that moment came. He would release his anger at these sadists... and Mycroft later.

When the sound of the cane landing was suddenly met with silence, Hou gestured to the doctor. “Check him.”

John took a few steps towards Sherlock and nearly collided with the prison doctor before he remembered he had been warned not to interfere. His advance did not go unnoticed by the warden and for a split second John was afraid the man was about to have him removed from the room. With his hands raised in an apologetic surrender he stepped back to his former position, and held his breath as he waited for Hou to say something.

Waving Chowhury forward again Warden Hou said, “I will not tell you again, Dr Watson. Maintain your position or you will be removed from this room.”

John didn't trust himself to not saying anything to the warden that wouldn't get him thrown out of the room so he just nodded his apology and turned his eyes back to where the prison doctor was finishing his examination. The doctor said something to Hou in Chinese, a language John did not understand, and after the warden nodded, he pulled out a small bottle John recognized as containing smelling salts. John felt his anger rise to a new level as the pungent smell brought Sherlock back into the torment of consciousness, and immediately John heard soft moans of pain from him.

Warden Hou closer to the caning trestle, and began speaking to Sherlock in a tone of voice John would easily label as professionally detached. “Mr. Holmes, do you remember why you are here and the reason why you are being caned?”

John's fist clenched when Sherlock could only shake his head and groan in reply to the warden's questions.

“I regret to inform you that only seventeen of the twenty-four strokes you were sentenced to have been administered. Dr Chowdhury has informed me he believes it is safe for us to continue with your punishment and normally we would continue on his opinion alone. However Mr Holmes, because you are a foreigner whose position is shall we say unique, I was given the instructions if there was a need to halt the caning that it only be halted by the doctor's orders or by your own decision. But if you decide to continue on, one of the conditions of the punishment is that you must be conscious for each and every remaining stroke.”

“Oh for heaven sakes!” John growled. “You're all a bunch of bloody sadistic, uncaring, unfeeling barbarians without any concept of compassion or mercy if you can make that sort of demand from a man you've just caned to the point of unconsciousness!”

Hou shot him a look and signaled the guards. “I warned you not to interfere, Dr Watson.” The guards put their hands on John's arms and he dug in. “I promise you, doctor, you will be removed from this room and it will by force if you make it necessary.” He nodded to the guards, and trusting they'd carry out his order, turned his attention back to Sherlock. “I need to know your decision, Mr Holmes.”

“I..”

When a third guard had joined the two who already had a death grip on his arms, John knew he had no option but to let them escort him from the room. He also knew which choice Sherlock would make, and he knew he couldn't let him do that. The guards had him almost to the door when John called out, “Cane me!” His words had the effect he wanted at the warden called the guards and John back.

“What did you say, Dr Watson?” he asked.

“I said cane me. I'll take the seven strokes Sherlock has left if you'll end his punishment and let your doctor tend to his wounds.”

“A very interesting offer, Dr Watson.” Hou was clearly amused. “It's one I'll consider allowing if Dr Chowdhury certifies you're fit enough to be caned.”

“I think your doctor will find that I am.”

“We shall see, Dr Watson.” The warden replied then said, “Doctor?”

John allowed the prison doctor to take his blood pressure as well as any other test he needed to perform for the certification and then sooner than he really wanted have liked Dr Chowdhury gave his approval. John was escorted back to the room where Sherlock was still bound to the caning trestle as they awaited the outcome. 

Upon seeing him Warden Hou said, “If you truly mean to take his place, then strip.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is likely the last update of this fic until I get closer to having the last half of it written.


	3. Trading Places

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John takes Sherlock's place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am still having difficulty with the last half of this fic so I do not know when I'll update again, sorry!

_Upon seeing him Warden Hou said, “If you truly mean to take his place, then strip.”_

 

*

John felt his face burn with the humiliation of the warden's order but began to comply with it, relieved when halfway through the removal of his clothing they began to untie Sherlock from the trestle. With the release of the last leather strap holding him to the frame, Sherlock collapsed but did not hit the floor as the guards held him up between them and John watched as they carried him from the room.

 

“He'll be taken to the infirmary for preliminary medical treatment until the people from your consulate arrive,” Hou answered John's unspoken question.

 

John nodded but said nothing as he removed the last of his clothes, taking a deep breath as his vest fell to the floor.

 

“Anytime you're ready, Dr Watson,” the warden prompted when he didn't make.

 

John nodded, “Right, let's get this over with then.”

 

The guards did not lead him to the trestle, but stood by it, ready to tie the straps that would hold into place. Which they did very efficiently. Finally when the protection for his lower back was strapped into place.

 

While the same brute of a man who had caned Sherlock took his place by the trestle, the memory of the time or two he'd been caned in school flashed through John's mind and he wished with all of his might that he could be that boy again who faced the wrath of his teacher instead. He knew as much it had hurt at that had hurt at the time, the cane they'd used in school was smaller, not as nearly thick as this one, and he hadn't been forced to remove every stitch of clothing before being punished.

 

"I understand," John ground out, gritting his teeth. "Let's just get it over with.”

 

The last of his words were just dying down when the first stroke landed, and John blinked in surprise when at first all he felt was a warm burning sensation, that while very uncomfortable, wasn't anything he couldn't handle. But then as he waited for the second stroke, the pain grew, and soon it felt like someone was pressing a fiery red poker into his backside. By the time the second stroke landed, he had begun to quiver from the pain, and he groaned as every nerve in his body echoed the painful sensation. When the third stroke landed, the pain went from unbearable to excruciating and John screamed with every stroke afterwards.

 

Through the haze of pain, John was vaguely aware of the number of strokes they'd given, and how many that meant he had left. He breathed out with relief as the seventh one came, and he waited for the guards to release him from the trestle. But instead of them moving forward to untie him, the cane bit down on his backside again, drawing a surprised scream.

 

“Release him.”

 

By the time the guards had untied his bonds, and John straightened up, the only other person left in the room besides the guards was Dr Chowdhury. “Are you able to walk, Dr Watson?”

 

“I think so.”

 

“You have a few bleeding welts on your backside and if you'll come with me to the infirmary, I'll treat your wounds.”

 

“If you don't mind I would at least like to put on my pants so I won't be completely naked while walking through the prison,” John replied, and he over painfully to retrieve them from the floor.

 

Chowdhury nodded to one of the guards who produced a sheet.”If you prefer to wrap yourself in this, it'll save you the trouble of having to remove them again once we reached infirmary.”

 

“Won't Warden Hou be displeased?” John asked as he accepted the sheet gratefully.

 

The doctor nodded. “Yes, but given the fact you shouldn't have been caned in the first place I doubt he'll say anything.” He waited until John had the sheet wrapped comfortably yet securely around him before motioning for John to go ahead of him. “I'll have to direct you to the infirmary but it's wiser for you to walk in front of me in case there are any unforeseen consequences.”

 

 _Like me passing out from the bloody awful pain_ , John thought but chose not to speak aloud. Instead he walked slowly towards the door, grateful to leave behind this torture chamber.

 


	4. Immediate Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock's wounds are treated while help from Mycroft finally arrives...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it has been a long time since I posted anything new in this story but I am seriously looking at it again with the hopes of finishing it in the next month or so!

“Is there any chance I can have my mobile back now?” John asked of Chowdhury. “There's some I need to contact about what happened.” It had been confiscated on arrival at the gate, probably to prevent him from filming Sherlock's caning, he supposed. But now that was over with he knew he needed to get in contact with Mycroft before the British consulate members arrived to pick them up from the prison.

 

“I'll see what I can do, Dr Watson,” the doctor replied and went to talk to a guard.

 

John closed his eyes while the doctor was gone, trying to block out the pain that was still radiating from his buttocks. He was surprised when no more than two minutes later Chowdhury had returned and was holding his phone out to him. He thanked the man, and used his elbows to prop himself up but did not turn over onto his back. As he expected there were several texts messages waiting for him to look at, and he knew without looking at them that they were all from Mycroft. He decided that the hours old messages were now obsolete, so he opened a more recent ones.

 

_An update on my brother's condition would be very appreciated, John. - MH_

 

John barely resisted the temptation tell Mycroft where he could go when he began writing his reply. Instead he kept his message to the point.

 

_He's in a lot of pain, as expected, as am I. Have consulate ppl bring pain meds along with a dr when they come. - JW_

 

John rolled his eyes when his phone beeped not two seconds after he sent his message.

 

_Explain the_ as am I _part of your message, doctor. - MH_

 

_Use that massive Holmes intellect to figure that out yourself! - JW_

 

_I beg your pardon, Dr Watson? - MH_

 

“I imagine you do. Deduce whatever you can from this!” John muttered before pressing the phone's off button. He couldn't deal any further with Mycroft Holmes right now without telling the man completely off.

 

Chowdhury reappeared, “Your consulate's people will be here within the hour for you and Mr Holmes.”

 

“Thank you,” John replied, closing his eyes. _Hold on just a little while, Sherlock. Relief from the pain is coming!_

 

“Dr Watson?”

 

John opened his eyes and looked at the doctor. “Yes?”

 

The Singaporean drew closer to speak softly, “I wanted you to know that you have my utmost respect for what you did for your friend today.

 

“Well, I only did what I had to do.” John said with a self-depreciating shrug. “What anyone would do for his best friend.”

 

“Indeed, Dr Watson. But you must understand there isn't one man in this prison who'd volunteer to take seven strokes of the cane for another, friend or not. After witnessing how much pain it inflicts, I am ashamed to say I include myself in that assessment.”

 

Again John shrugged, “Like I said, I only did what I had to do.” This conversation was making him very uncomfortable, and John closed his eyes in hopes the doctor would leave him in peace.

 

“You may have saved his life you know.”

 

Once more John looked at the man. “How do you mean?”

 

“I mean Mr Holmes was clearly in the early stages of shock, yet I believe he would have chosen to take the seven remaining strokes rather than having to serve time in prison in exchange. He may not been able to withstand the cane any further.” When John didn't respond to this, Chowdhury nodded. “Right, I'll let you try to rest until your people arrive.”

 

John watched him leave, not commenting that rest was unlikely as long as pain radiated from his bottom, and instead turned his gaze towards Sherlock. Like John he laid unclothed on his stomach, covered with a sheet as a way to give him his dignity back. His face was turned in the other direction but John didn't have to see his face to know what was there. Sherlock was unconscious still but not in a deep enough state to where he wasn't still feeling the pain from his cane mangled buttocks. Each groan from his friend tore at John's heart and he could only will for the consulate people arrive soon.

 

“Dr Watson?” an unfamiliar voice called gently.

 

John felt a hand touch him cautiously, and he opened his eyes to stare at the face of an older man who had crouched down so their gazes would be level. For a moment John was unsure what was going on but then he remembered he had closed his eyes for a moment, hoping to rest a bit before the consulate people arrived. “Hello, I guess I must've dozed off there.”

 

The man nodded, “Indeed. Dr Watson, my name is Edmund Yoxall. I am one of the people Mr Mycroft Holmes sent to escort you and Mr Sherlock Holmes to the British consulate.”

 

“Tell me you have a doctor with you, since for obvious reasons I won't be able to take care of Sherlock myself.” At his inquiry a woman dressed in an army uniform appeared in his line of vision, and never had John been so grateful that he was civilian since he was incapable of rising up from the prison cot to give her a proper salute.

 

“Hello, Dr Watson. I'm Major Morstan, and I am the doctor who will be caring for you and Mr Holmes.”

 

Even in the state he was in John couldn't help but think of how lovely the major was. He smiled at her as he said, “Please take care of Sherlock first. He got it far worse than I did.”

 

As the major nodded and moved off, the consulate man spoke again, “It's obvious from the state we've found you in that you too have been caned, Dr Watson. Mr Holmes made us, as he was made, to understand that only his brother would be subjected to Singaporean law. Was he misinformed in this?”

 

“No, he was not,”John answered and then explained what had happened.

 

“I see,” said Yoxall once he finished. “So you were given the seven remaining strokes that were due to Mr Holmes?”

 

“Actually I got eight strokes,” John replied, then added, “They gave me the one extra after I seemed to have offended Warden Hou when I called them barbarians.”

 

“Lovely sounding man.” Yoxall replied dryly.

 

“Oh you have no idea.” John responded, his tone as equally dry.

 

“Err Dr Watson, I am sorry to have to say this but we came prepared to only give aid to Mr Holmes,” Yoxall said apologetically.

 

“In other words, I'll need to walk out of here under my own power,” John concluded.

 

“I'm afraid so, Dr Watson.”

 

“It's all right, Mr Yoxall. It's not your fault, you couldn't have known they had caned me too. The fault is mine if anyone's since I didn't volunteer that information with Mycroft earlier.” John sighed before he began to attempt to rise from the cot while keeping a tight hold on the sheet, “I suppose there's nothing for it but to get dressed now. I do hope my clothes weren't left-”

 

“Dr Watson, what on earth are you doing?” Major Morstan exclaimed as she crossed the room from Sherlock's side.

 

John stopped moving, “Um trying to get up from here to get dressed I think.”

 

“Oh no you don't! Not until I've had a chance to take a look at your wounds!”

 

John turned a few shades of red, “That won't be necessary, major. The prison doctor has already taken care of it. It's fine.”

 

The army doctor stared at him for a few seconds before gesturing for the consulate man to follow her. Before stepping away however she looked at John to give what sounded like an order. “You stay put. I don't want you standing up until I've had a chance to look at your wounds myself.”

 

Even as he responded with an automatic “Yes, ma'am!” John wondered if she somehow knew about his own military service.

 

She was apparently satisfied at his answer moved off to talk to Yoxall on the other side of the room. Two minutes later, she returned to John saying, “I ask him to give us some privacy while I finish examining you both.”

 

John nodded, and looked over at Sherlock. “How is he?” If there was one thing he regretted about the situation they'd been forced into, it was the fact he couldn't now be the one to take care of Sherlock and would instead have to rely on another doctor.

 

“I've got Mr Holmes sedated for now to help with his pain and to keep from hurting him further while I examine his wounds,” she replied. “Speaking of which, how is your own pain levels?”

 

“My bottom still feels like it's on fire but it's not as nearly as bad as it was while I was being caned.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be patient and bear with me!


	5. A Visit At Baker Street

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot begin to apologize for how long it is taking me to finish this but I’ve had writers block for going on two years at least now that I’ve just haven’t been able to find the inspiration to finish out this story. Now while I can’t promise you I’ll finish this story in a timely manner this year I am going to give it my best shot!
> 
> Sorry this is a short chapter but it was already written and I thought you’d all like to read it!
> 
> And has anyone out there cheated like me and watched the first 2 episodes of Sherlock Season 3? No spoilers from me but I felt like it was well worth the wait! I am dreading the last episode of the season though because they’ve promise a cliffhanger worse than Reichenbach!
> 
> Anyway hope you enjoy this chapter!

When she opened the door, Mycroft Holmes was the last person the landlady of 221B Baker Street had expected to see.

“Good morning, Mrs Hudson,” he greeted her with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

She returned his greeting before adding, “Sherlock and John aren’t home at the moment.”

“Yes, I am aware of they are not. I’ve actually come to speak with you, Mrs Hudson. If now is a convenient time…”

For a moment Mrs Hudson wondered what Sherlock’s older brother could possibly want to talk with her about but then she nodded. “I was about to have some tea. Would you care to join me?”

“Yes, that would be lovely, thank you.” Mycroft had anticipated her invitation for tea, and had cleared his morning schedule accordingly. He followed her inside where she motioned for him to make himself comfortable in the sitting room while she adds the finishing touches to their tea.

“Here we are,” Mrs Hudson said when she returned a few minutes later carrying a tray with their tea and a small plate of fresh from the oven scones. She placed the tray on the coffee table and sat down in the armchair opposite of the one Mycroft had chosen. After seeing to it that he tea was as he liked it, Mrs Hudson gestured at the scones. “Have one and please don’t say it goes against your diet.” At his raised eyebrow she added, “I can’t help overhearing some of the… comments Sherlock makes when you’re visiting him.”

Mycroft gave in to her insistence, and took one of the scones, noting Mrs Hudson was not happy until he had taken a few bites. “Mrs Hudson,” he began after he had finished half of the scone, “I’m sure you were made aware that my brother and Dr Watson have traveled aboard to Singapore for Sherlock’s current case?”

The landlady nodded, “John mentioned it to me they were headed out of the country for a few days. Singapore you said?”

“Yes.”

Mrs Hudson’s eyes widened, and she gasped as though she suddenly realized something. “Oh my! Something has happened to them, hasn’t it? You’re here because they’re hurt or…” As tears flooded her eyes, she noticed that beyond a look of irritation, the man sitting across from her did not react. Closing her eyes, she tried to keep from crying in front of him thinking, What a horrible, cold man you are, Mycroft Holmes, if your brother’s…gone and you don’t even seem to care!

Mycroft saw her distress, and knew he had not chosen his words with as much care as he should have had. She was quickly getting lost in the new, doubled grief, and knowing he’d better act before it caused her any physical stress, Mycroft used his umbrella to lightly touch one of her legs. “Oh Mrs Hudson, my sincere apologies but I’m afraid I’ve caused you to draw the wrong conclusion because Sherlock and Dr Watson are not dead.”

Mrs Hudson released a visible breath of relief, murmuring “Thank goodness!” The relief was quickly replaced by anger and the landlady threw a small pillow at him. “Mycroft Holmes, you should be very ashamed of yourself for scaring an old woman like that!”

Mycroft allowed her a moment to calm down. ”Just so and again apologies, Mrs Hudson. I did not mean to give you such a fright for them. They are alive, and for the most part they are well. However, they are not entirely uninjured, but I assure you their injuries are not life-threatening and they will make a full recovery.”

“Hurt? How?” she shot back.

“I think perhaps it is for the best if I allow those details to be told at the desire and discretion of my brother or John, Mrs Hudson.”

Mrs Hudson huffed. “Then I’ll likely never know if the telling is left to Sherlock!”

Mycroft finished his tea and the scone before he said, “Nevertheless, I think it should be left up to them.”

She gave a reluctant nod. “Of course. When will they be home?”

“Their flight is expected to land late this afternoon, and they will be home to Baker Street shortly thereafter.”

“Oh, I’ll make sure everything for them by then.”

“No extensive preparation will be necessary since I have already made all the necessary arrangements except one. Mrs Hudson, what is the current state of the third flat in this building?”

The landlady was clearly puzzled by the question. “Why it’s empty of course! The thing is too bloody cold and damp to be rented to anyone without proper renovations!” Renovations she knew would never happen unless she raised the rent on the boys, and although the extra income would be nice to have, she also knew it was something she could never do to either of them.

“With your permission, Mrs Hudson, I would like to change that. I have arranged for a physician to remain close at hand for the next week, just to be safe as well as take the responsibility off Dr Watson’s hands. Knowing my brother, he will barely tolerate anyone that close, so I would like to provide you with the money to properly prepare the flat.”

“That would cost way too…”

“Money is no object here… not where my brother is concerned. And I would rather you do not repeat that. Do I have your permission to have the flat repaired?”

“All right but how can things be ready in time? Didn’t you say that Sherlock and John’s flight lands late in the afternoon?”

Pulling out his phone, Mycroft wrote a short text then answered her, “Yes, I did. However, the people I have hired for the work will be here momentarily to begin.” As if on cue, the front doorbell rang, and Mycroft stopped the landlady from getting up by standing up himself, straightening his suit as he spoke, “I’ll let them in, Mrs. Hudson. Thank you for the tea and please accept my apologies but I must be leaving now as the rest of my day is quite full.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is very much a work in progress... I am having serious issues with the second half of the story and all I can promise is this story will be finished with it gets finished.


End file.
